time of day and a press of lips
by tinyphrases
Summary: This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me. Castle and Beckett have a day off. Kisses ensued. For my dearest best friend in the whole wide world: Mary.


I never just write fic. Not my forte. All things aside, there was an afternoon when my dear bestie Mary sent me a bunch of quotes and encouraged me to write kissing fic, because we do not get enough of the smoochin' on the show. After that, she used capslock to convince me to post it. Here's to you Mary.

Disclaimer: I had a Maths A resit today. I don't think someone who writes for Castle is forced to do Maths.

* * *

_At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete._

**F. Scott Fitzgerald**

* * *

She curls up tight some mornings. At least, when she sleeps with him. Like she's trying to capture his warmth and keep it all to herself, nose pressed in the comforter she's fisting at her chin. He watches her in awe, how her nose wrinkles slightly and she lets out the smallest of snorts every so often. His fingers involuntarily reach out to touch her cheek, and she squirms, tries to get away.

He sometimes forget she's ticklish in her sleep. Her nerves are almost more sensitive, and her cheeks are flushed when her eyelids finally flutter, casting gentle shadows on her cheekbones. She looks up at him with a soft, sleepy smile, and leans in to kiss him. It's just a brush of her lips on his, not nearly enough to satisfy the times he wanted to kiss her but couldn't - _because they were in public, or at work, while those are the times her strength breaks through and he wants to carry the burden with her. _She may be strong, but she doesn't have to keep up at home.

_Home. _

She sighs contently, burrows into him. "What time is it?"

He kisses the top of her head, looks over her at the nightstand. "Seven. Look at that, Kate Beckett slept until seven am!" he teases.

She pokes his chest half-heartedly. He always assumes she doesn't know how to sleep until later than five-thirty. Apparently it's wrong. "I need rest too, coffee is unhealthy."

"Coffee is unhealthy," he repeats, chuckling. "I never thought I would hear such a thing from you."

Her hands land on his chest and push him away from her, a frown creasing her eyebrows now that he can see her face. "Let me rephrase that: coffee is less healthy than sleep. Sleep when you can."

"See, that's the kind of thing I would never hear from you, were you alone," he says with a soft smile, pressing his lips between her eyebrows.

"What can I say," she says with a light shrug, fingers curling at his jaw and pulling his lips to hers. "I guess you've got me under your spell." Her whispered words are followed by her lips on his, gently pressing and brushing. He winds his arms around her, pulls them flush, bodies aligned from head to toe.

And it's not until their stomachs ask for food, that their lips part.

* * *

_I have loved none but you._

**Jane Austen**

* * *

The day is rainy for March, and she's curled up into his side as they watch BBC miniseries. It was her idea, and she had suggested hesitantly, but he was all in. He had never known she liked miniseries. As it turns out, she does like them. Mouths along to the dialogue where it differs from the classic novel the series is based on.

It's not like he loves watching these things. It's because she loves it, that he's willing to deal. All in all, he's read Austen novels. They're believable. But not to the point he wants to watch visionary versions of it hours on end. But Kate does.

Kate watches them with gleaming eyes and a very, very sappy smile. He would tease her about it if he didn't think she was hopelessly adorable. She is.

He leans in to kiss her cheek but she pushes him away, points at the screen. "Watch, Castle. You can do that later."

"Why not now?" he asks with a pout, to which she turns her head to him and rolls her eyes. She just has to look at him when she does that, does she?

"Because we're watching, and I actually _want _to watch," she retorts, grinning a little.

He glares at her. Well, he attempts to. Her eyes are sparkling as she turns back to the television, and he tucks her further into his side. Her legs are tucked under her and he traces the outlines of her toes, making her squirm a little. "What are you doing?" she asks with a little laugh.

"Not kissing you," he replies easily, running his fingers over her foot to her ankle.

She shakes her head in amusement, and he thinks she'll move away. Instead, she just continues to watch, wiggles her toes against his palm. He smiles, because she attempts to be subtle. She really isn't.

He has troubles keeping his attention to several things at once, but as stereotypical as it sounds, she can. She also can give him all the attention she desires to give without getting distracted. So focused and eager. Like he's a case she needs to solve.

His hands move from her feet, but then she turns to sit in his lap, and for a second he's confused. Didn't she want to see the movie?

The answer is questioned when she kisses him fiercely, hands at his jaw, rising over him.

* * *

_Soul meets soul on lovers' lips._

**Percy Bysshe Shelley**

* * *

Her body is pliant under his fingertips, and he can feel the muscles moving under her skin, and the way she breathes because their bodies are one. When she breathes out, he breathes in, stealing her oxygen, giving it back after.

She's gasping, and his fingers move inside her gently, and then his fingers are replaced, and she's gasping even more.

She's beautiful when she has lost her voice, has lost control of her beautiful body. It's what she normally uses to be convincing, strong. And he can take it from her, make her feel vulnerable and small. But not afraid.

Kate Beckett can be afraid. Just not with him. She once told him he's her safe haven, keeping her sane and warm and smiling. He thinks it's the best compliment he has ever gotten.

The way she shatters around him, makes him shiver. It's unlike any of the things he has felt before. Inexplicable. Mindblowing. Amazing, just like she is.

Afterward, she pulls him down and kisses him. It's lazily, her lips barely parted, like she doesn't have the energy to slip her tongue out and tease him like she always does.

He doesn't mind, wraps his arms around her and rolls them both onto their sides, still kissing, still touching. Their lips smack gently. Their noses brush.

And every part of them in connected, more than just skin deep.


End file.
